Virtuoso
by Mr Sinister
Summary: Rebecca Braddock has come to an important milestone in her young life, and she needs some advice about the birds and the bees...


**_Virtuoso_**

   I put down my violin, and Jenny claps appreciatively, before looking thoughtfully at the notes she had made while I was playing. "Good, Rebecca – very good," she says in an encouraging tone of voice, setting her fashionably-framed reading glasses down on the table beside her. "You're definitely getting better. That sounded much more relaxed." Then she picks up her own violin and starts to play a short sequence of music, letting the gentle, lilting sound fill the small room where she and I are having our daily practice. "There," she says after she has finished. "Try that." 

   After my (slightly less accomplished) version of the music, Jenny nods, tapping her pencil against her lower lip and then picking up her glasses again. "You're still letting your fingers wander a little," she says. "Try to make sure they hit the strings exactly where you want them to go, rather than just putting them somewhere close. It'll really make a difference – trust me."

   "I don't know, Jenny," I say, letting my exasperation though into my voice despite my best efforts. "Is it always this hard to learn music?"

   "Well, Rebecca, it took me ten years of practice to get to the level I'm at today," Jenny replies. "I wasn't nearly as good as you are after only two weeks of lessons – I could barely get out a tune, let alone play as well as you can." She winks at me. "You'll get there in the end, sweetie; you've really got a talent for this." She nods towards the door. "Would you like to call it a day for now? You look like you could use a rest, and I'm dying for a cup of coffee and a sandwich. What do you think, honey?"

   "I think that's a great idea," I agree, opening my violin's case and putting my instrument inside it, closing the lid with a satisfying degree of finality, and Jenny does the same, taking off her glasses and putting them into her blouse's breast pocket. She holds the door open for me, and we walk out of the music room together. Outside, sunlight streams through the mansion's windows, creating long strands of light in which dust motes float gently, tossed here and there by the gentle air currents in the hallway. Through one of the windows, I can see a few of the X-Men enjoying a rare day off by relaxing around the lake – Mum and Dad are splashing happily in the shallows with my little brother, and I can feel their happy thoughts drifting up here as if they've been carried on a breeze. Meanwhile, Scott and Jean are swimming in the deeper waters, and Sam is practicing his driving of the Shi'Ar water-skimmer (and to be honest, he really needs to). Seeing Mum and Dad so happy with Tom brings something to the front of my mind – something that's been affecting me for a little while now, so I decide to ask Jenny about it, just to get it out in the open. "Jenny, can I ask you a question?" I ask, a hesitant tone surfacing in my voice.

   Jenny stops in her tracks, looks at me curiously, and then says "Sure, Rebecca – go ahead. As long as it's not about nuclear physics, I think I can help you." She smiles at me hopefully, obviously once again reading my face better than I had hoped she'd be able to. "So what can I do for you?"

   "Well, I…" My voice trails off for a moment before I get my thoughts together. "Jenny, what was it like the first time you had sex?"

   For a moment, Jenny is speechless, her mouth opening and closing without any sound coming out. Then she takes a deep breath and rubs her hands over her eyes quickly. "Oh, man," she says simply. "Look, honey… if this is about what it's like to be with a boy for the first time, you're asking the wrong girl –"

   I shake my head quickly, keen to dissolve that idea. "No, Jenny, it's not just about what it's like to be with a guy specifically – I just… I just want to know what to expect."

   "Have you talked to Sam about this?" Jenny asks, sounding concerned. "I think he has a right to know, don't you?"

   "No, not yet," I say. "I just need some advice, that's all. I was going to talk to Mum and Dad about it, but –"

   Jenny laughs, despite herself. "Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you, Rebecca," she says. "That's _really not a good idea."_

   That makes me a little confused. "Why not? I thought parents were supposed to be the people you could talk to about anything?"

   Jenny raises her eyebrows, and takes another deep breath. "I'll explain when we get to the kitchen. I think I'll need that coffee…" We walk down the back stairs and make our way to the small kitchen, where Jenny brews herself a pot of coffee and pours a cupful for each of us. Taking a sip of her drink, she says "So you want to know why talking to your mom and dad isn't a good idea?"

   "Yes, please," I reply. Somehow this whole situation seems to be a lot more complicated than I'd imagined. Of course, all I've got to go on about sex is the information Sinister put into my head, and that's not exactly focused on the emotional side of things. I can tell anybody how many zygotes there are in a cell, and I can narrate each stage of the reproductive cycle with my eyes closed, but this? This is all completely strange to me, and it's getting stranger by the minute. 

   "Well, parents know their kids are going to be having sex someday," Jenny begins, "but they don't want to _know their kids are going to be having sex someday. Do you follow me?"_

   "Not really," I say, feeling a little bewildered (sometimes, even telepathy doesn't help me understand the way some people talk). Jenny laughs kindly, and takes one of my hands in hers, as if that one simple gesture could completely reassure me. It doesn't – but it's a start, I suppose.

   "Put it this way – you know your parents have had sex, right?" she asks. I nod, and she continues "You know they've had sex, or you wouldn't have a baby brother. But you don't want to _imagine them having sex, do you?"_

   An unbidden image of Mum and Dad making love hits the back of my eyeballs, like paint splashing against a wall. Jenny must notice me shuddering, because she nods again, an understanding look crossing her face. "Yeah, I thought you'd react that way. See, Rebecca, parents think the same way about their kids' sex lives, only they get a lot more overprotective and weird. I don't talk to my parents about sleeping with my girlfriends, and I'm pretty sure I'd get grossed out if my mom or dad did the same thing where they're concerned. It's just one of those things you don't talk about."

   "Okay," I say slowly, trying to digest what Jenny has just said as best I can. "So… could you help me?"

   "Well, that depends on what you want to know. I mean, I'm not exactly a world authority on this subject," Jenny replies, taking another sip of her coffee, and reaching into the biscuit tin on the table with her free hand, bringing out a chocolate chip cookie and offering it to me. "You want a cookie first?" I nod, and take the oversized cookie from her hand before biting into it gratefully. Jenny picks out a cookie for herself, and takes a large section out of its side with her teeth. "That's good," she remarks, crumbs of cookie clinging briefly to her cheeks before she wipes them away with a fingertip. "I have to find out where Jean buys these things." Then she looks up at me again and says "So what else _did you want to know?"_

   "Is it okay to worry this much?" I say, deciding to make my biggest concern the first thing I mention.

   Jenny nods. "Sure it is – I remember I was sweating bullets before my first time. This is a very big thing for you, and I think I'd be more concerned for you if you weren't at least a little worried about it." She smiles. "But then again, I wouldn't worry _too much, either, or you'll never get anywhere. It's all about getting the balance right, you know?"_

   "I… guess so," I say, still feeling just a little bit confused, but also getting a slightly better sense of what this whole situation is going to require. "Thanks."

   "No problem," Jenny says, smiling. "You made a good choice with Sam, Rebecca – he's a nice kid. Of course, he's not really my type, but he's a nice kid anyway. He always holds doors open for me and calls me 'ma'am' – I haven't seen that sort of politeness for years." She laughs. "But then again, I _did _live in New York City. Go figure."

   "Thank you, Jenny," I say again, before finishing my coffee in a single gulp. "It's nice to know somebody else appreciates Sam as much as I do. He's… he's my best friend."

   "That's always a good start," Jenny agrees. "Lou's my best friend, too – and if you can be 'friends with benefits', that's the best way to be." She leans over then, and puts her arms around me gently. "You'll be fine, Rebecca. Just be careful, all right? Promise me you'll use protection."

   "I promise," I reply, returning Jenny's hug gratefully. It's nice to have had at least some of my worries put to rest, after all. "I don't really want to end up pregnant; I saw what it did to Mum, and I don't want to go down the same route as she did – not now, anyway."

   "Good girl," Jenny says. "That's what I like to hear. I'd hate for your mom to blame me for you getting a bun in the oven, after all…"

*

   Jenny and I sit and talk for about another half an hour, chatting about things other than what we'd just been discussing, and then I leave the kitchen and find the lift down to Beast's lab. Hopefully he'll be able to give me a second opinion on what's been bothering me. It's not that I don't trust Jenny's advice – not in the slightest – but I would love to get another person's views on this, since it feels so daunting, and Hank seems like the ideal person to give that to me. Aside from Mum and Sam, he's my closest friend in the mansion, and it would mean a lot to me if he were able to give me a helping hand.

   The lift comes to a stop at the bottom of the shaft and the doors hiss open quietly, revealing the sterile corridor that leads to the med-lab. Lining the walls are several old movie posters that I persuaded Hank to put up in order to make the place a little more appealing – among the posters on my right is one for _GoodFellas_, and on my left there is one for _The Empire Strikes Back._ Hank wasn't too sure about it when I put the posters up – but I guess he didn't mind in the end, seeing as he left them up. 

   Cautiously, I knock on the door to the med-lab and say "Hank? Can I come in?" When Hank hears my voice, he turns away from his work bench and puts down his goggles so that he can put his glasses back on his nose. 

   "Greetings and salutations, milady Braddock," he says, a big, toothy smile cracking his blue-furred face almost in half. "What brings you down here? Usually I have to wait for you to get beaten up or sick for you to come and see me when I'm working." His smile fades a little, and a look of concern flashes over his features for a moment. "You're… not sick, are you?"

   I shake my head. "No, Hank, I'm not sick. I just… need some advice, that's all."

   "I… see," Hank says, adjusting his glasses slightly so that they rest a little more comfortably on the bridge of his nose. "What kind of advice would you like?"  
   "Well… I need some advice about sex," I say, hesitantly – perhaps even more hesitantly than I did to Jenny. When I've finished speaking, Beast looks like he's been hit by a freight train. His jaw hangs open slightly, until he remembers to close it.

   "Oh my stars and garters," he says simply. "You haven't –"

   "No, I haven't – not yet, anyway," I say, knowing what he's going to say before he says it. "I just need somebody to talk to about it, that's all. I asked Jenny upstairs, but I wanted your opinion as well… so here I am."

   "Well, then, I suppose I should consider myself honoured," Hank smiles. "What would you like to know?" He pauses. "I presume Jenny told you to use protection? If she didn't –"

   "Relax, Hank – she told me," I tell him, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. "Even if she hadn't, I still would've used it, just to be safe." Pausing, I adjust a button on the sleeve of my blouse and then take a deep breath. "I really love Sam, Hank, and I want to show him that, but… I don't know. Should I wait until I'm older?"

   "Should you?" Hank replies, giving me a quizzical look from behind his glasses. "You're the best judge of whether or not you should wait, Rebecca. Do you feel completely ready for this kind of commitment?"

   "Well, _I_ do, but I don't know if my _body_ does," I say. "I mean, physically I'm not even three years old yet, Hank – how's my body going react to sex?"

   Hank shakes his head. "I wouldn't worry about that, Rebecca," he tells me reassuringly. "I've run enough medical scans on you to write a book on the subject of accelerated growth, and I can tell you, without any doubt, that you are as mature – both physically and mentally –as you will ever get. You ought to be absolutely fine; I'd bet my entire stash of Twinkies on it." He ruffles my hair gently, and winks. "Even if you aren't, you know I shall always relish the opportunity to talk to you down here. It's the highlight of my day." That makes me blush a little, my cheeks going hot and prickly involuntarily, and Hank's smile widens. "You're a beautiful, intelligent girl, Rebecca, and Sam is very lucky to have you. I should make sure he knows that as often as possible if I were you."

   "Flatterer." I stick my tongue out briefly, and then give Hank my best smile. "Thanks, Hank. You've been a real help."

   "I'm glad to hear it," Hank says, slotting a couple of blue pens into his lab coat's top pocket. "Are you going to talk to Sam soon? I think you ought to, you know; this is going to be a big step for him as well, after all."

   "Yes," I agree softly, "Jenny said pretty much the same thing."

   "Good," Hank replies. "At least you're getting consistent advice – although I'd wager if you were to ask Remy, for instance, you'd get something completely different." He chuckles briefly. "I could definitely live without you taking up smoking, not shaving for weeks on end, and hitting on anything that moves, you know."

   "You're a fine one to talk about not shaving, fuzzy," I retort, laughing, feeling the tension in my muscles easing itself out almost instantly. _Thank you, Hank,_ I think. _You always know exactly what to say, don't you?_ "Do you think I should go and talk to Sam now, or wait until this evening?"

   "No time like the present," Hank says, shrugging. "Good luck, Rebecca. Remember, I shall be here if you need to talk again later. That does seem to be my role in your life, after all, doesn't it?" He chuckles. "Perhaps I should apply to be the agony uncle for the _Daily Bugle?"_

   "Maybe you should – it'd pay better than being stuck down here all day, I bet," I say, leaning forward and putting my arms around Hank gently. "Keep your fingers crossed for me."

   "I shall most certainly endeavour to try," Hank replies, returning my embrace warmly and tickling my face with his fur, "but I'm sure you know how tricky that can be when you're dealing with potentially explosive chemicals." Then he draws back from me and points to the ceiling of the med-lab with a clawed forefinger. "I think there's somebody up there who needs to talk to you more than I do, though, don't you? Go on. He's probably waiting for you." As I make my way to the door of the med-lab, he waves at me jovially. "Good girl. Let me know how it went, all right?"

   "I will, Hank. Thanks again," I say, before leaving through the clear glass door and making my way to the lift at the end of the hall. _This is it,_ I think to myself, with more than a small hint of apprehension. _Better not screw this up…_

*

   I find Sam just outside his bedroom, clad in a simple shirt, jeans and trainers, his hair still wet from the shower he's obviously just taken. He waves to me as he sees me approaching, and as I get close, he catches me around the waist and lifts me off my feet, twirling around on the spot before kissing me hello. "Hi there, princess," he says softly. "Saved me the trouble of coming to look for you – I got tickets to go see _The King And I this weekend. You want to come with me?"_

   "Sure, Sam. Sure," I say, trying not to look or seem too distracted… and probably failing. I've never been good at hiding my emotions, and at times like this, it seems even harder. Sure enough, Sam picks up on my poor mood, and takes my hand in his gently.

   "Hey… you okay, Bec?" he asks, inclining his head forwards slightly and raising his eyebrows curiously. "You ain't your usual sunny-side-up kinda self. Somethin' wrong?"

   I exhale deeply, running my hands through my hair and then wiping them across my face. "Not… not exactly. I need to talk to you about something, Sam, and… I don't know how you're going to react."

   A look of concern washes briefly over Sam's face then, and he turns back towards the door of his bedroom, turning the door handle and gesturing into the neatly-kept interior. "You'd better come in, then, I guess." He waits for me to walk past him, and then shuts the door, before offering me one of the simple wooden chairs that are stood by the small chest of drawers in the room's corner. "You could sit on the bed, too, if you wanted to," he tells me quietly, taking one of the chairs and flipping it around so that he can lean forward against the back rest. When I have seated myself on the edge of his bed, Sam says (a little apprehensively, it has to be said) "So what did you want to talk to me about?"

   "Well, um…" I begin, nervously (more nervously than I've ever spoken before, I think). "I think you're really special, Sam. I've never met anyone like you, and I –"

   "Oh, God…" Sam interrupts me hastily. "This is a break-up conversation, ain't it?"

   "No! Oh, no, Sam, no," I shake my head vigorously, putting a finger to his lips as I do so. "This is nothing like that, I swear. What I'm trying to say is… is that… I want you… to be my first time."

   Once I've spoken Sam looks like he's just been punched in the gut, and is unable to speak for several minutes after that. "Wow," he says, finally. "You mean 'first time' as in _first time, first time?"_

   I can feel my cheeks burning, as if they're covered in hot pitch, and suddenly I'm just as speechless as Sam had been just now. "Yes," I whisper softly. "Is that… all right with you?"

   "Completely," Sam smiles, relief flooding into his mind and across his face almost instantly. He shifts off his chair and comes to sit next to me on the bed, before he pulls me gently to him for a tension-shattering kiss. "God, you had me really scared there for a moment," he says as our lips part. "You really ought to practice these things in your head before you say them, you know."

   "Well, excuse _me, Sam – who was it who just said 'This is a break-up conversation, ain't it'?" I retort, laughing. "You're not exactly full of tact yourself, you know." I kiss him again, just to reassure myself that he's still there, and hasn't run away screaming, and then lay my head against his shoulder. Closing my eyes, I know there's no other place I'd rather be than right here._

*

   Evening hangs heavy in the air outside Sam's window, the sounds of insects and the occasional hooting owl being all that comes from the outside world. Sam brings me a glass of champagne and offers it to me as I sit on the edge of his bed. "Just to get you in the mood," he says, almost sheepishly sitting down beside me. Clinking his glass against mine, he continues "To… uh… to crossing boundaries, I guess."

   "To crossing boundaries," I agree softly, sipping the bubbling wine and feeling the alcohol lessen the shaking in my hands, just a little. When we have finished our drinks, Sam carefully puts the empty glasses down on the table beside his bed and eases himself closer to me, taking one of my hands in his. 

   "You sure you want to do this?" he asks softly, stroking my face with his free hand. "You say the word and we'll stop right here."

   "Yes, I'm sure," I say, a firm edge to my voice as I lean into his palm gently, like a cat. "Just… kiss me, Sam."

*

   Sam's hand clenches tightly around mine, his face contorting in exertion for a brief moment, and then the final moments of our lovemaking are over. Sam rolls onto his side of the bed then, his sweaty body glistening in the half-light of the crescent moon. He looks at me as I lie still, staying flat on my back, and says "Hey, pretty lady – you okay down there?"

   "Yes," I breathe, softly, pushing myself up onto my elbows and gathering the covers of the bed over my breasts (although I'm not sure why. Sam _did_ just see everything there is to see on me, after all). "More than okay." I lean over to kiss him exhaustedly, but he doesn't return it. I can sense growing horror at the front of his mind, and when I open my eyes, I can see why – the condom we used has a long split down the front of it, in just the wrong position.

   "Must have been defective," Sam says, redundantly, before he punches the wall above the bed in frustration. A small pocket of his blast field erupts around his fingers, tearing out a chunk of plaster. "Damn it!" he cries, as chips of plaster scatter across the surface of the duvet. "I'm so sorry, Bec… I didn't mean for this to happen… I –"

   "It's all right, Sam," I say, trying to be as calm as I can, trying to soothe his frustration by putting my arms around his waist and resting my chin on his shoulder. I can tell he sees this as a failure on his part, and one that he should have been able to fix. "I'm sure they can get me some… I don't know… morning-after pills at the doctor's surgery. It'll be all right."

   _I hope._


End file.
